


mere monstrosity.

by cl3rks



Category: John Wick (Movies)
Genre: Blood, Drinking, Drinking Games, F/M, Graphic Violence, Gunplay, Guns, Hospitals, House Parties, House parties gone awry, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Retired Assassins, Shooting, Slow Burn, Snacks & Snack Food, Sneaking Out, Tags TBA, Y'all already know what this is, bodyguards
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2019-08-26 21:35:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 6,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16689301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cl3rks/pseuds/cl3rks
Summary: In which this was only ever supposed to be a security job and the girl was only ever supposed to be a paycheck.





	1. smell.

**Author's Note:**

> i love keanu lmao

“Mom was wearing her loafers,” her voice was soft, she looked… wrecked. Her hair was a mess, her clothes were still stained with her father’s blood, her hands were still coated with the dried crimson of Geraldson’s. Even as she grasped the latter man’s hand, she felt like it remained wet and, as her tears dampened her cheeks, she took in a deep breath. “Mom wears loafers on good days.”

Michael Geraldson was her bodyguard, to put it simply. He was her shadow, day in and day out, the two were together. An older man, a pure gentleman; he was there before she was born and vowed to keep her safe until he no longer could. A towering figure, well gifted in his vertical stature, was now weakened, and laid out in a hospital bed, machines beeping and clicking to help monitor his vitals – she hadn’t quite been listening to the doctor.

That’s why her mother, Genevieve, had been there after Raphael Hetchlen, her own bodyguard, had reported Geraldson’s S.O.S down on the subway platform.

“Y’know, G, if I didn’t know better… I’d say Morris had been planning it the entire time,” she wasn’t sure if he could hear her, she was assured he could, but… it hurt. She felt empty, talking to an unconscious man. She looked the embodiment of exhaustion, that didn’t exactly do anything to help. “I still smell the gunpowder, the blood on the walls – for once, I can’t smell the subway.”


	2. duty.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You couldn't even be given a family room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i like writing in this POV but idk second person is easier for me than third

She was changing in the hospital’s bathroom, a nurse having given her enough wet-wipes to stock a camping trip. Her skin was free of blood, especially after she cleaned under her nails. She was pulling on the oversized hoodie her mother had gotten for her, having already changed into the dark pair of sweatpants she was offered. 

“Sweetie?” Her mother knocked, fingers quick against the door. “I’d like you to meet someone, an old friend of your father and I.”

She looked at herself in the reflection of the mirror above the sink; eyes still puffy, face still warm, lips still firmly pulled down in a frown. Taking in a short breath, albeit shaky, she unlocked the door, and pulled it open before she met eyes with a tall man, deep brown eyes watching her from the moment the door exposed her form. 

“This is John Wick, retired, like I am… or about as retired as one can get, these days.” Her mother smiled gently towards her, bringing a hand up to take one of hers, easing her forward as she stuck the other one in her hoodie’s pocket. “He’s a good man, (Name), and he’ll be taking Geraldson’s place.”

“I don’t _want_ somebody else, I want G.”

“Considering he’s laying in a hospital bed, dear, I don’t think that’s possible. Even if he is able to operate in the same way as before, it’s unlikely he’ll return to duty.”


	3. security.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was more thoughtful than you initially realized.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dude finals are coming up but i'm sitting here writing jkdhfsjff

“So, what, that’s it?” Genevieve was on the phone, her tone clipped as she spoke to the security officer on the phone. “That’s all you can do for me? You can’t even hand me – no, I get it. Procedures, and all that, but the body on the platform is my husband’s and the blood on those walls is his, too, so unless I start seeing some… no, expect me there in five.”

Raphael walked in front of her, then, as she grabbed her coat and trailed after him, her bodyguard forcing her to match his steps as he kept a hand near her elbow. 

Suddenly, you were alone in the room with John Wick, and his deep stare was infuriating.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?”

He tilted his head, long hair shifting around his angular face. The thick locks framed his scruffy cheeks rather nicely, forcing you to notice the natural expression he carried: calm and collected… quite handsome, too. 

“Would you like me to?”

 _No,_ your brain replied as you rolled your eyes, _I’d rather you didn’t._


	4. follow.

John wasn’t a big fan of you going off alone, you realized. 

You had learned that from Geraldson and, especially in your teenage years, had tested to see just how far you could get before Geraldson noticed your absence… _hint;_ not far at all. The first (and only) time, you’d gotten out of the house (without him) and down the driveway before he was striding up alongside you, hands in his pockets as he mentioned his own appreciation for a casual stroll.

You learned to let him lead which allowed you to follow.

But John Wick was not Michael Geraldson and you were ready to test just how far you could stretch him; after all, your mother had gone and you two were alone.


	5. class.

You had told John that you were going down the hall for a quick coffee, your steps light against the tile as he followed you and, admittedly, you felt a little bit bad for leaving Geraldson alone in the room. (Said guilt was quickly relieved when you saw Judith Hetchlen, Raphael’s wife, come out of the hallway and slip into the room to watch your incapacitated bodyguard.)

“I don’t need a new shadow,” you told John as you stirred your coffee after it dispensed, loading it with your typical mix before sipping it. It burned your tongue and you winced, pulling it back and holding it delicately, not being able to find a proper fitting lid for it. You glanced at him, eyes prying. “I’m sure my mother told you I have classes, correct? I have friends, I have a life.”

“She mentioned it.”

“I cannot have you sitting in at my classes, I mean it –“ 

“Geraldson did.”

“My Psychology professor-“

“Won’t care.”

You huffed, pout forming at your lips. John had a quirk to his brow as you took in a deep breath, forming your words as to not overstep… well, not that you really cared, but he could tell your mother you were _erratic_ or something and you’d be shut-in for days to come.

“You better be as calm as G is, he always fit in… suit and all, he blended. Make an effort.”


	6. friends.

You had overheard a part of your mother’s conversation with John after you had gotten home and gone upstairs, funeral preparations already being made. 

“She’ll treat you like this for a while, and I do apologize for it. She sees you as trying to replace him and… no one can, he’s truly like a second father to her. Whether Sylvan was there or not, Michael always was and that’s… nearly just as traumatic as seeing your father gunned down on a subway platform.”

John’s reply was too soft for you to hear, but your mother spoke again; “no, I told her it’d be ill-advised to see too many friends. Morris may try and come back, either to find Geraldson and finish him off or, God forbid either, take my daughter from me, as well.”


	7. pen.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Class sucks when people won't mind their business.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof

You weren’t liking your situation. Everyone kept looking at you, eyes constantly on you – all as an act of pity. There were whispers, as you tapped your black pen against your notebook, ears unable to drown out the pestilent noises; eyes unable to focus on the board.

You glanced at John in his seat behind you, your fingers setting your pen down as you brought your hand up to your neck. You nervously rubbed the area, moving your hand again to make a motion. John leaned forward, forearm pressed to the desk as he moved his torso forward and down. 

“They’re talking about you, I think,” you tried to excuse it as that, but you knew better.

“Not to be insensitive, (Y/N)-“

“Save it.” You snapped bitterly, shrinking down in your seat. You saw your friends a few rows down looking back at your curiously, expressions unchanging to everyone else’s. “I know. _Your_ father wasn’t gunned down by someone he trusted on a subway platform.”

He remained forward, body still relatively close to yours. “I think it’s time to go.”

Well, at least there was _something_ you could agree on.


	8. pizza.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You didn't mean it, not all of it, at least; anger was your best friend, at this point, since you had no others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the chapter three trailer dropped and my body is READY

You were sat in the corner of a dingy pizza place, your personal armed-shadow thoroughly surprised that a _spoiled_ young thing like yourself even knew of this place. Well, he didn’t _say_ that, but you could read it on his features and-

“If you’re suddenly a mind reader, what am I thinking?” He asked you, tone measured as if he had a scale in his stupid throat for it. “You mumble.”

“Have I been talking out loud, then?”

“Unfortunately,” he replied, eyes watching you in a lazy gaze, not really that interested, it seemed. He was engaged, obviously, he had to be, but he didn’t have to feign interest for all the money and luxuries in the world. “Yes, you were.”

You spared him an eyeroll and the scoff that usually followed after: “I don’t know what you’re thinking, John. You’re unreadable.”

“You think I’m judgemental.”

“Aren’t you?”

He fixed you with a stare that you were so plainly exposed to from your mother; an eyebrow quirked, lips pursed, jaw set, shoulders tensed – like a wild creature before a lunge at its prey – and a straight back. 

“Is that what you think?

 _“No,”_ you decided, knowing full-well that you were just angry that he was a fixed-replacement for your man, G, even though John had no intention of being that very person that was laid out on life support in a guarded hospital room. “I don’t.”

He took that for as much of an apology as he could, listening to your foot tap softly against the black-and-white checkered tile as you waited for your pizza to arrive to your table. His expression changed, then, as though he was calculating something. His eyes squinted, tongue flicked out to wet his lips carefully, lips curling back over his teeth for a moment. 

“What?” You prodded, attempting to match his weighted gaze.

He shook his head and looked away from you, once more checking out the window to monitor the cars and citizens like the good bodyguard he was.


	9. awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jw3 comes out tmrw and im honestly so ready

He was awake, they told you; he’d shifted sometime in the night and groaned so loud the nurse heard him before he could frantically press that shitty little red _help_ button. You had John chasing after you as you ran past security, the officers recognizing you as the other bodyguards waved you through. 

Your mother wasn’t there because Raphael figured the two of you should not be in the same place at the same time _with_ Michael there, as well. You heart threatened to break at the sight of him, you knew it would when you saw him, but before you rounded the corner, John grabbed your arm and hauled you backwards, shoving you into an open closet before shutting the door behind himself.

He cornered you up against the cleaning supply shelf as you breathed heavily, surprise taking over your features at his strength as he stared at you. He was crowding you, now, before he spoke, “you must remember that we are likely not the only ones who know he is awake, do you understand what I’m telling you?”

“No, John. I also certainly don’t _appreciate_ you pushing me into a random _closet_ to say what you could’ve said in the hall!”

“You’re acting like a child,” he told you evenly, handsome features brought into an unhappy expression, his lips pulled into a scowl. “When you’re running down the hall, endangering yourse-“

“How was I endangering myself!?”

“We know Michael is awake because Raphael knows, Raphael knows because the hospital staff knows. If we know and the staff knows, then who else do you think could put two and two together?”

You stared at him for a moment, eyes squinted as you tried to read between the lines he was practically spelling out for you. You breathed out your answer, realization hitting you; “Morris.” 

John nodded slowly, gaining back his composure. “I understand your connection with Michael, I understand that he is important to you; but you cannot go running off when there is a man on the loose ready to kill anyone tied to your father in a moment’s notice.”

“I’m sorry,” you told him softly, feeling the gravity of the situation weighing down on you. “It won’t happen again.”

“I know it won’t,” John told you, concern lacing his voice, but only in the slightest. “Now, shall we?”

You nodded curtly and allowed John to lead you (by the elbow) to your original bodyguard’s room. You felt your heart leap at the name _‘Michael Geraldson’_ scribbled onto the band he wore around his wrist, hearing as he spoke stiffly to a nurse before he glanced to you.

“So, Genevieve did call you?” John gave yet another nod, but different than the one he gave you; with you, it was slower, a bit more understanding, with G, it was quick, a brief acknowledgement of what he said. “And you…”

“Hi, G,” You felt tears spring to your eyes as he motioned you forward, feeling your body move on autopilot to practically collapse onto him as he let you. “I’m so glad you’re awake.”

“Me too, kiddo.”


	10. party.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surely, there was no reflection he could've glanced up and seen you in?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> saw john wick 3 last monday, will probably see it again this coming tuesday. there will be no spoilers in this fic for it. this fic is pretty much AU as it is. sidenote, these chapters are getting longer as i go on, whoops? anyway, enjoy! (i like commas, you'll see that for a fact.)
> 
> me: i love subtle foreshadowing  
> also me: yeah let's just blatantly put it in here.

Your temperament had been milder since Geraldson had woken up, your grudge (personal vendetta, more like) against John had lessened because the idea of getting _your_ bodyguard back had entered your mind. You were more careful around John, referring to him cautiously rather than casually, your movements slower, following his lead. 

Because of this, you found it easy to take the liberty of attempting to sneak out. One of your friends had texted you, saying, _“None of us have seen you in so long without your new friend! Travis is having a party, was wondering if you could make it?”_

You were quick to get ready, pulling on a simple outfit: jeans, t-shirt, converse, and a hoodie. You stuffed your phone and a couple necessities into your pockets, not wanting to bring a bag, and made your quiet journey down the stairs. The top of the stairs was smooth but as you descended, you placed your feet carefully as to not hit the creakiest parts. Your hand was on the bannister railing to help shift some of your weight without it being audible.

You knew John was somewhere in the house, likely reading or cleaning his weapons for the tenth time that day. You noticed that he did that, especially when he was bored. He was so efficient at it that sometimes he’d just take his whole gun apart and put it back together just to keep his reflexes in check. He was a patient man, but he needed to have his time occupied. You heard the slide of a kitchen drawer and took in a deep breath, peeking around the corner to see him standing there, his suit jacket and shirt not currently in sight, he wasn’t even wearing his slacks or shined shoes. 

It felt like seeing him naked without _actually_ seeing him naked. He was wearing a pair of blue jeans, durable boots, and one of those thermal looking long sleeve shirts. He looked… cozy. It would be a lie if you said your heart didn’t leap at the thought, John was a very attractive man, after all. Tall, dark, and handsome, wrapped up in one dangerous “retired” assassin who happened to be your bodyguard; how unfortunate.

You had to remember what you were doing as you caught yourself admiring the way his back muscles pressed through the shirt pulled across his shoulders. You also caught the slightest notion of ink, what looked to be a tattoo peeking out from underneath the fabric. You took one more deep breath before stepping down from the stairs, watching him the entire time as you went from the bottom of the staircase, right out the front door. 

You didn’t even bother locking it as you set your pace, tearing down the front driveway as your shoes slammed against the gravel. You made it to the end, pushing open the side gate before shutting it behind you. Carefully, you punched in your gate-code and watched the gate shake and shutter before opening in on itself, allowing for a car to pass through. You grinned as you went into the garage just beside the gate, climbing into one of the unlocked SUVs there. You took the keys from the visor and put them into the ignition, turning them before being on your way.

It’s careless, you think, the way that there’s a convoy of unlocked cars just beside the front gate… but you know it’s strictly for emergencies. You swallow harshly, washing away the thought that has just entered your mind as you pull out of the garage. The gate closes behind you, the censor allowing it to lock as you drive slowly down the gravel trail before making it onto the main road.

Throughout your entire plan, you didn’t even consider the possibility of Greyson Morris, let alone him showing up to wreck your night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kinda hard to write john's monosyllabic ass sometimes lmao


	11. pinged.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, you shouldn't be surprised, now should you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these chapters just keep getting longer maaaaaan

You had parked the gigantic SUV on the side of Travis’ dad’s house; the sleek, black exterior presenting your reflection back at you. You sighed softly to yourself, shutting the door without bothering to lock it. You waved to several people and ventured inside, past the knocked over lights on the front lawn and the already plastered 20-somethings with half-full red solo cups in their hands. The music playing was so loud that it had your feet vibrating the moment they made contact with the front porch.

“Is this really how I want to spend my night?” You asked yourself, eyes scanning the sight that met them upon pushing open the front door. The sight, unfortunately, happened to be two of your college’s most prized football players running at each other with lampshades on their heads. You looked for your friends, seeing Katie and Kim hanging out by the snack table. You smiled wide, waving to them as you headed towards them.

“You made it!” Katie said as she kissed your cheek, hugging you tightly while Kim sipped whatever was mixed inside her solo cup. You continued to look around the party, eyes searching for Travis, the _gracious_ host of this party. You grabbed a handful of pretzels, focus turned back to your friends for the meantime. “I didn’t think you would.”

“Where’s your hotter other half?” Kim pressed with a raised eyebrow, manicured nails nearly cutting into the plastic she held tightly to. “Not that you’re not hot, but-“

“He isn’t my other half, Kim, he’s my shadow, at best.” You practically spat, annoyed at the mention of the man you were avoiding. “I thought you guys wanted me here, not him?”

“He’s more _ruggedly_ handsome than Geraldson,” Katie shrugged as Kim scoffed, the former elbowing the latter as you nearly grimaced. You took a deep breath, choosing to eat your pretzels rather than discuss what they were so keen on bringing up.

Kim rolled her eyes, narrowly avoiding the elbow jutted her way. “Uh, Geraldson is pretty hot, too, Katie. Put your eyeballs on next time.”

“Can we not talk about either of them, please? G’s basically my dad and John is just… not my favorite, currently.” You said this, but as you glanced at your phone, with no new texts and twenty minutes gone, you wondered how long it would take John to notice, if he ever noticed, to begin with. “I had to sneak out to avoid him, so he might make an appearance later, then you both can ask if he does doubles.”

Kim grinned as she bumped your shoulder with her bare one, “there’s my girl! C’mon, let’s go find Travis and CJ.”

“CJ’s here?” You said through a mouthful of pretzels, eyes looking around for the man in question. He was hard to miss, being so tall, but he managed to make himself appear smaller. “Is he back with Candice or…?”

“No, she went back home and dumped him before she left, so the big guy’s back on the market!” Katie informed you, watching Kim lead the two of you through the house. “I wouldn’t put it past Kim to have already sucked his dick.”

“Nah, dude won’t budge. He’s just looking for someone to talk to, if I’m honest,” Kim replied, the thumping of the music forcing the three of you to raise your voices a bit louder than you’d like. You were surprised no cops had been called yet, but then again, Travis was given that special rich kid privilege by more than just your shared college. “She really shit on the poor guy.”

The three of you made it to the stairs and carefully pushed your way past the people crowding them, reaching the upstairs landing where several others were swapping spit on some leather couches. You made a face, clearly not tipsy enough for any of this. It felt like a bit much, having seen what you have and forcing yourself back into a situation such as this, one where such overwhelming audio and visual stimulation was sure to make your head spin.

Once you found Travis and CJ, the latter just staying quiet beside his friend’s side, time seemed to pass by without much notice. People were playing drinking games upstairs _and_ downstairs, one of which you participated in. You noticed that food was being left in places it didn’t belong, empty kegs were being bowled down the stairs and into the front yard, and even more people were destroying lampshades as the two football players previously had been; all in all, the night seemed to be going well.

…Except when Travis got plastered and tried to stick his hand up your shirt.

At that point, you told him to back off and decided to take a breather. (When you left him, he had rolled over and passed out, so he wouldn’t be bothering you anytime soon.) You climbed onto his roof with ease, knowing the best footholds after doing this exact thing, time and time again. You just needed some time to breathe, checking your phone to see a few missed texts and your phone screen lighting up with a number you were forced to memorize. With all the noise, the shitty food, the even _worse_ people, and all the social-lubrication – AKA alcohol – you figured it was best to just remove yourself from the equation.

You declined the call with a quick swipe of your thumb, the roof practically shaking under you from all the inhabitants beneath it. You heard the slide of the window you had crawled through, someone bigger than you pushing it open to accommodate their size.

“Travis, if that’s you, I’m kicking you off your own roof.” You said aloud, curling your arms tighter around yourself as you pressed your phone to your clothed ribcage. The cool air of the night was biting at your neck and ears, your cheeks warm from constantly rubbing your hands against them. “I mean it!”

Then, you saw a pair of long hands grab hold of the gutter and hoist a full body up past that same point, pulling themselves onto the roof like it was no big thing, as though you hadn’t just struggled for a minute or so doing the same move.

“Oh, hi… didn’t expect to catch you alone,” you muttered, watching CJ lean forward to balance, slowly walking towards you before taking up the place beside you. He was radiating heat, not even bothering with a jacket. “Don’t mind the cold?”

“I could say the same for you and, no, not really… but you look like you’re freezing.” He replied softly, brushing his toned bicep against your arm as he wrapped it around your shoulders, pulling you into his side to help keep you warm. “Haven’t seen you in forever, if I’m honest.”

You hummed in response, simply snuggling into his side as you felt your phone begin its series of vibrations yet again. A moment later, it chimed with the _new voicemail_ notification. You sighed to yourself and muted your phone, watching CJ glance down as it lit up against your hoodie again.

“Heard you got a new one, that him?” CJ questioned, causing you to roll your eyes. You were ignoring John and you knew the consequences wouldn’t be pretty. 

“Does everyone on campus know?”

“Yeah, and they know about everything.” He cleared his throat as you shifted uncomfortably, “I’m sorry for your loss.“

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” You mumbled, leaning your head against his collarbone. “Heard you and Candice broke up.”

“You’re being sweet right now, because everyone knows she dumped my ass.” CJ chuckled, his chest vibrating with the sound. You were half-listening to his heartbeat while enjoying the rumble as he talked. The two of you stayed quiet after that, just enjoying the fresh air and each other’s presence when you saw your phone screen light up again. “Wanna get that?”

You let it ring again before checking the texts, all of which were very short and to the point of, _‘You could make this short and easy. Just tell me where you are.’_ Then, opening the voicemails and putting them on speaker, not caring if CJ heard John.

 _“Do you not listen to anything I say? Whatsoever?”_ and _“You’re lucky you have pinging software.”_

“What does that even mean?” CJ questioned, leaning his head to the side as a black motorcycle pulled up, the owner built in a way you recognized. “Is that…”

“You tracked my fucking phone!?” You were angry, now, standing up out of CJ’s grasp. John pulled his helmet off and hung it off the motorcycle’s handle. He looked up and stared straight at you, not saying a word, not shouting up to you; nothing. “John!”

You saw Katie pop out of the window and attempt to pull herself up. She started cursing and kicking at whoever was holding her, most likely Kim, as she held onto the gutter. You and CJ just stared at her, eyebrows raised.

“Hey, some guy is looking for you.” 

“I know, Katie, my bodyguard!”

“No,” she shook her head, eyebrows furrowed as Kim was yelling below her. “Some other guy, in a real hurry, too. He’s way older than the rest of us. Said his name is Greyson… know him?”

“Get back inside!” Realization dawned on you as you carefully ran towards her on the roof, waving your hand as she gave you a confused expression. “CJ! You, too – all of you, get back inside. Go hide in the bathroom!”

It wasn’t even a minute that you had been back in the house before John had made it to you, grabbing you by the hood of your sweater when you saw that _oh so_ familiar face; the one you had last seen on the subway platform, the very same that caused your blood to run cold.


	12. paycheck.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You knew better.

It shouldn’t have surprised you, _he_ shouldn’t have surprised you, but hearing a gun through the halls of a familiar’s home? Knowing even _more_ people were being put at risk because you just wanted to have a goodnight? It, well, it _hurt._

“Stay low!” John shouted over the piercing screams, the sounds mixing in with the obnoxiously loud music. He held tight to your hood, his other hand holding his gun as he switched the safety off in one fluid motion, his deft grip allowing him to move with you all while checking his surroundings. You glanced behind you to see CJ, Kim, and Katie all pushing themselves into the bathroom, the first looking most concerned for you as you glanced back at him. “Keep moving, let’s go!”

You felt like you were drowning; you couldn’t quite breathe and anytime you did, it felt shallow and it felt wrong: too heavy. Your heartbeat was in your ears, the thumping even louder than the music, John’s voice muffled as adrenaline ran through your veins faster than blood itself. There was a weight on your chest, knowing you had done this, if you had just listened and-

“I’m sorry!” You shouted, not quite sure to whom, but you said it once more before John was practically hoisting you under his arm and running. He was using himself to protect you, the sound of a gun (somehow) louder than the rabbit running a marathon behind your ribs. “The bike or the – fuck!”

You felt John shove you just after another shot had gone off, feeling his body weight press firmly against you, your own body crowded against the wall. You gasped as whatever air you had in your lungs was knocked out of them, attempting to stand fully. “Go for the car, forget the bike.”

You nodded as people rushed past you, attempting to push his body from you. In your haste, you didn’t realize that as you were moving, John was no longer with you. You looked behind yourself, feeling fellow college students pushing and shoving, nearly trampling each other as another shot went off. You lost sight of your shadow and called out to him, swallowing whatever notion of a good idea you had and turned away from the front door.

“John!” You called, using your shoulders to practically bruise your way through the stampede. “John!”

Even over the music, your heartbeat, the adrenaline, and screaming, you managed to hear his _stupid_ little pained grunt. You looked for him, seeing him turned towards the wall as he pressed his hand to his lower side. He had one hand out to support himself, the other clumsily holding his gun and, what appeared to be, his blood-weeping wound.

“Jesus Christ!” You shouted over everything, grabbing him with little difficulty as you slung his arm around your shoulders. 

“I told you to get to the car, that was a-“

“A direct order! _Fuck you,_ I know! Just, come on…” With little resistance on his part, he began following your lead to the SUV. You were practically pulling him, his weight constant against you as you held onto him. The arm beneath his was pressed tightly to his wound, your hand bunching up the thermal shirt there to apply as much pressure as you could while still maintaining a steady pace forward. Your other hand was holding onto his forearm, the muscles twitching beneath your fingers as he kept clenching his hand into a fist. “Almost there, shit, I promise I’m never going out again.”

The dry laugh he gave you in response could’ve made your blood boil, but considering the recent turn of events, you were just focused on hauling ass. 

You reached the car in no time, opting to drag your bodyguard to the SUV rather than try and wobble him there. Once inside the car, with John in the passenger’s seat and your own trembling form behind the wheel, you locked all the doors and hazardously pulled away from Travis’ dad’s house. You ran over the grass and, much to your own dismay, the motorcycle John had ridden here.

You were back on the main road when another car appeared in your rearview mirror, quickly climbing up your ass before you could say anything to John.

“John! Hey, what do I do! He’s right behind us – John!” He seemed to be on top of it already, rolling down his window with his hand still pressed to his wound. You watched in awe as he pushed himself sideways to lean out the window, taking potshots at the speeding car behind you. Two of the bullets hit Morris’ car and he fell back for a minute, but only for a minute. You kept the car moving straight as John rolled his window back up, leaning towards you. “What’re you doing?”

His face was in proximity with yours, his dark eyes locking your gaze onto his own as he reached over you with a grunt. He rolled your window down, his breath hitting your cheek as he adjusted his position. Carefully, he reached beside your seat and pulled the handle up, hearing you let out a quick scream as he slammed his shoulder into the cushioned support, forcing your seat backwards as he let go of the handle. You heard the engine of the other car as it came up beside you, John shooting at it more before the car rammed into the side of yours. You let out another scream as John took in a deep breath, placing his hands over yours on the steering wheel.

He jerked the wheel to the left and slammed the SUV’s front-left side into the right side of Morris’ own car, forcing Morris off the road as John pulled the wheel back to the right, gaining control of the car as the two of you heard the other plow straight into a tree. You didn’t say anything as John carefully guided the car back to your house, your foot remaining pressed to the accelerator until he told you to brake, deciding to take corners at forty so that you made it back faster, albeit more dangerously. You didn’t notice the blood residue on your hands until John’s larger, much warmer ones left their place over your own. 

He leaned back over you as you heard the driveway gate opening, his hand reaching for the seat’s adjustment handle once more. He pulled it up as you slowly allowed yourself to lean forward and let the chair rest in its natural position. His face was still close to yours as you took in a deep breath, the car smelling of blood, sweat, and, if it had a smell, anger. 

(You blamed the throbbing in your lower belly on all the adrenaline coursing through you, but, let’s be real, you knew better.)

“Is that your blood on my hands?”

“Don’t think its anyone else’s, unless you’re in the business of touching stranger’s wounds,” John remarked, putting his still-hot gun into the waistband of his jeans as you saw a team of angry bodyguards, all in various stages of dress, on their way down the drive towards you. You met eyes with your mother, seeing her being crowded by Raphael and his wife, dressed in a nightgown, her satin sleep-robe, and the outdoor slippers she loved. “Now, get out, and don’t pout at me.”

You carefully pulled the handle on the door, remembering you hadn’t bothered to buckle up, and allowed yourself to set one foot on the gravel. Your limbs, however, were not cooperative and suddenly turned to jelly. You practically fell out of the car as the team of bodyguards reached you, three of them went to you and helped you up, grouping around you tightly as they helped walk you inside. The other two went to John, attempting to assist him as he turned them down, asking instead for a medical kit and several of the team to go scour the area of the crash.

“Five mile radius, he couldn’t have gotten far.” John barked stubbornly, ignoring the look on your face as you kept staring at his wound. Even when he was sat in the kitchen, fingers expertly digging the bullet free of his skin as he stitched himself up, all while answering your mother’s questions. “No, Genevieve, she’s not.”

“Just her ego, then?” You heard your mother ask, clearly talking about you and whether you were hurt. She glanced at you, pulling her robe tighter around herself as she looked you over. “Just happy she’s in one piece.”

You watched John’s muscles move as he tightened them to get a better stitch, tensing his own body up, knowing how well it worked – _stop,_ you had to tell yourself. _The road you’re attempting to travel down is a dark one, do not go down it._

You felt someone press a warm cloth into your hands, seeing Raphael standing in front of you in jeans and a black t-shirt, socks (and only socks) adorning his feet. It would’ve been amusing, had the circumstances been different.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, wiping John’s blood from your shaking fingers. 

“Did he tell you, or did he figure it was best to save it for a less stressful time?” Raphael’s lips were pursed, jaw clenched but set forward. He looked like a dog ready to attack, despite his comical lack of footwear. “Did John want _you_ to hear it from _him?”_

 _“Raphael.”_ Your mother tensed; her eyes suddenly angry. Her tone had come to a full-stop, head tilted to the side as she pressed her lips into a thin line. “Don’t start. I will not beg you, but not tonight.”

Your head was spinning too much to even decipher the growing aggression in the room, “what?”

Raphael opened his mouth to speak again, but John cleared his throat after you watched him use his own teeth to cut off the thread, not bothering with the sharpened scissors just beside him. He stood with little effort, hand still pressed to his wound, the throbbing there not unnoticed by his brain. He slowly walked over to you; the entire room’s tension was palpable to everyone _except_ you.

“Listen to Genevieve,” John held his hand out to you and looked to Raphael as your hand fitted easily within the former’s, forcing your own body to stand, albeit shakily. “Or I won’t be the only one with stitches.”

With that, John guided you silently up the stairs. 

He stood outside the bathroom as you showered, listening to you open your various soap bottles before turning off the water. He stood inside the room as you dressed, facing the door before you told him you were done. He stood inside your room as you watched him, willing your nerves to calm down. Your hands were tucked easily into the pockets of your hoodie, the scene familiar to you; reminiscent of that first meeting.

“What were they talking about?” You posed this question carefully, not knowing if he’d share the same aggression towards you as he had with Raphael.

“That’s for the morning to know.” He told you gently, tone surprisingly calm despite you getting him shot.

“Why didn’t you shoot more?”

“Civilians.”

(It was a simple answer, not one he had to give great thought to. It’s what set him apart from Morris; John would take shots if necessary, but not at the risk of more lives. Morris just… didn’t care. It was near terrifying to think that this man would truly stop at nothing to kill you. What had you done? _Surely,_ you had done _something_ to deserve this treatment. But, no, not really, you just happened to have been born into a family with a father who had one too many enemies.)

You nibbled your lip as he turned from his spot, watching his form take up the doorway before you spoke again, eyelids heavy with the eagerness to sleep. “Thank you, John… I didn’t realize-“

“I know.”

Admittedly, as he shut the door behind him, you found yourself staring at the ceiling and wondering if he hated you, now. But that was such a silly thing to consider, right? He was meant to watch you; effectively, he was a glorified babysitter… it didn’t occur to you, not even in the slightest, that he didn’t seem to mind the subtle nuances that were different with this job. 

(Sure, there were similarities. He was still shooting people, a bit more than planned, probably, but his overall goal was still the same; protect those in need from those big bads out in the world. So far, he was doing everything he was paid to do. It made you a bit grumpier than intended as you remembered to John, you were just a paycheck – the man can’t get paid if you’re lying gutted in an alley now, can he?)

**Author's Note:**

> Chapters will be short, it's something I'm working with. I like it. Thanks for reading, let me know what you think!


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